Wandering across fields of white,
Strolling through flowering arbors,
Dancing out among the corn fields,
Gazing over the waters at the harbor
An artist chiseling a masterpiece
Upon the canvass white as winter;
His fingers prick against the shreds
Of his brush going to splinters
Stars twinkling above a silvery moon,
Footprints washed away by the sea,
A red rose pressed against a broken heart,
A lover treading softly over the lea
The artist's spirit soars to land's unknown
As he sketches the golden meadows;
Lost in the depths of sandy dunes
Easing the pain of sweet young widows
Clutching a velvet rose to his bosom
He sketches faces of those broken-hearted;
Smelling the bloody petals of the flower
As his own pain and loss is smarted
The broken-hearted artist
Painting things of beauty all around;
And while he sketches for our pleasure
From his lips is uttered a mournful sound
His broken canvass reduced to tatters,
No longer sweetly snowy white,
But on its dirty cover there's a beginning
Of a painter's masterpiece taking flight
And as the cuts on his fingers sting,
And his deep red rose begins to wilt,
A sweet little bird begins to sing,
And heals the wounds that were dealt
The artist's tears begin to flow
As he picks up his broken masterpiece
And while he remains forgotten to the world,
His broken heart is once again at peace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Incredible! Beautifully written!